The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “As a torch, you mean?”

  “Precisely; just heft it.” As he tossed it into Fred’s hand, the latter was astonished to note its weight.

  “What’s the cause of that?” he inquired.

  “It’s a piece of pine, and its chuck full of pitch. That’s why it’s so heavy. It’ll burn like the biggest kind of a candle, and me plan, me laddy, is to set that afire, and then start out to larn something about this new house.”

  Nothing could have suited the boy better. He sprang to his feet and took the gun from Mickey, so as to leave him free to carry the torch. One end of the latter was thrust into the fire, and it caught as readily as if it were smeared with alcohol. It was a bit of pine, as fat as it could be, and, as a torch, could not have been improved upon.

  Then Mickey elevated it above his head, it gave forth a long yellow smoke blaze, which answered admirably the purpose for which it was required.

  “I’ll take the lead,” said he to his young friend, when they were ready to start. “You follow a few yards behind and look as sharp as you can to find out all there is to be found out. You know there is much that depends on this.”

  There was no possibility of Fred failing to use all his senses to the utmost, and he told his friend to go ahead and do the same.

  Mickey first headed toward the cascade, as he had some hope of learning something in that direction. Reaching the base of the falls, they paused a while to contemplate them. There was nothing noteworthy about them, except their location underneath the ground.

  The water fell with such a gentle sound that the two were able to converse in ordinary tones when standing directly at the base. Both knelt down and tasted the cool and refreshing element, and then Mickey, torch in hand, led the way up stream again.

  Through this world of gloom the two made their way with considerable care. Mickey cherished a lingering suspicion that there might be some one else in the cave besides themselves, in which case he and Fred would offer the best target possible; but he was willing to incur the risk, and, although he moved slowly, it was with a decision to see the thing through, and learn all that was to be learned about the cave. The stream was followed about a hundred yards above the falls, when the explorers reached the point where it entered the cave, and the two made the closest examination possible.

  On the way to the point the two had acquired considerable information. The roof of their underground residence had a varying height from the floor of from twenty to fifty feet. The floor itself was regular, but not sufficiently so to prevent their walking over it with comparative ease. The stream was only five or six feet in width and wherever examined was found to be quite shallow. It flowed at a moderate rate, and it entered the cavern from beneath a rock that ascended continuously from the floor to the roof.

  “Freddy, my laddy; do you take this torch and walk off aways, so that it will be dark here,” said Mickey to his companion.

  The latter obeyed, and the man made as critical an examination as he could. His object was to learn whether the water came into the cave from the outer world, or whether its source was beneath the rock. If the former, there was possibly a way out by means of the stream, provided the distance intervening was not too great. Mickey thought that if this distance were passable, there would be some glimmer of light to indicate it. But, when left alone in the darkness, he found that there was not the slightest approach to anything of the kind, and he was compelled to acknowledge that all escape by that direction was utterly out of the question.

  Accordingly, he called Fred to him, and they began the descent of the stream. When they reached the falls, they paused below them, and Micky held the torch close to the water, where it was quiet enough for them to observe the bottom.

  “Tell me whether ye can see anything resimbling fishes?”

  The lad peered into the water a minute, and them caught a flash of silver several times.

  “Yes, there’s plenty of them!” he exclaimed, as the number increased, and they shot forward from every direction, drawn to the one point by the glare of the torch. “There’s enough fish for us, if we can only find some way to get them out.”

  “That’s the rub,” said Mickey, scratching his head in perplexity. “I don’t notice any fishlines and hooks about here. Howsumever, we can wait awhile, being as our venizon isn’t all gone, and we’ll look down stream, for there’s where our main chance must be.”

  The Irishman, somehow or other, had formed the idea that the outlet of the water would show them a way of getting out of the cavern. Despite his careless and indifferent disposition, he showed considerable anxiety, as he led the way along the bank, holding the smoking torch far above his head, and lighting up the gloom and darkness for a long distance on every hand.

  “When your eye rists on anything interesting, call me attention to the same,” he cautioned him.

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” replied Fred, who let nothing escape him.

  The scenery was gloomy and oppressive, but acquired a certain monotony as they advanced. The dark water, throwing back the light of the torch; the towering, massive rocks overhead and on every hand; the jagged, irregular roof and floor—these were the characteristics of the scene which was continually opening before and closing behind them. In several places the brook spread out into a slowly flowing pond of fifty or a hundred feet in width; but it maintained its progress all the time.

  At no point which they examined did the depth of the water appear greater than three feet, while in most places it was less than that. It preserved its crystal-like clearness at all times, and in all respects was a beautiful stream.

  When they had advanced a hundred yards or so, the camp-fire which they had left behind them took on a strange and unnatural appearance. It seemed far away and burned with a pale yellow glare that would have seemed supernatural, had it been contemplated by any one of a superstitious turn.

  As near as Mickey could estimate, they had gone over a hundred and fifty yards when the point was reached where the stream gathered itself and passed from view. Its width was no greater than four feet, while its rapidity was correspondingly increased.

  After Mickey had contemplated it awhile by the light of the torch, he handed the latter to Fred, and told him to go off so far that he would be left in total darkness. This being done, the man set to work to study out the problem before him.

  His theory was that, if the passage of the stream from the cavern to the outside world were brief, the evidence of it could be seen, perhaps, in the faintest tinge of light in the water, The sun was shining brightly on the outside, and unless the stream flowed quite a distance under ground, a portion of the refracted light would reach his eye.

  Mickey peered at the base of the rock for a few minutes, and then exclaimed, with considerable excitement:

  “Be the powers! but it’s there!”

  It was dim and faint, as light is sometimes seen through a translucent substance, but he saw it so plainly that there could be no error. When he looked aloft at the impenetrable gloom, he was sensible of the same dim light upon the water. He tested his accuracy of vision by looking in different directions, but the result was the same every time.

  The almost invisible illumination being there, the Irishman wanted no philosopher to tell him that it was the sun striking the water as it reached the outside, and the outer world, which he was so desirous of re-entering, was close at hand.

  Mickey was in high glee at the discovery, but when he regained his mental poise, he could not shut his eyes to the fact that if he attempted to reach the outer world by means of the stream, he ran a terrible risk of losing his life. There was no vacancy between the water and the stone which shut down upon it. The outlet was like an open faucet to a full barrel. The escaping fluid filled up all the space at command.

  No one can live long without air. A few seconds of suspended respiration is fatal to the strongest swimmer. If the distance traveled by Mickey, when he should attempt to dive or float through to the outer wo
rld, should prove a trifle too long, the stream would cast out a dead man instead of a live one.

  But he was a person of thorough grit, and before he would consent to see himself and Fred imprisoned in this cavern, he would make the attempt, perilous as it was.

  Was there no other way of escape? Was there not some opening which had been used by those who had entered this cave ahead of him? Or was it possible that the imprisoning walls were to thin and shell-like in some places that there was a means of forcing their way out? Or was there no plan of climbing up the side of the prison and reaching an opening in the roof, through which they could clamber to safety?

  These and other thoughts were surging through the mind of Mickey O’Rooney, when an exclamation from Fred caused him to turn his head. The boy was running toward him, apparently in great excitement.

  “What’s the matter, me laddy?” asked Mickey, cocking his rifle, which he had taken from him at the time of handing him the torch. “Oh, Mickey, Mickey! I saw a man just now!”

  CHAPTER XXIX

  A Mystery

  O’Rooney stood with rifle grasped, while young Munson ran toward him from the centre of the cave, exclaiming in his excited tones:

  “There’s another man back yonder! I saw him and spoke to him!”

  “Did ye ax him anything, and did he make a sensible reply?” demanded the Irishman, whose concern was by no means equal to that of the lad.

  “He made no answer at all, nor did he seem to take any notice of me.”

  “Maybe it’s a ghost walking round the cave, on the same errand as meself. But whist now; where is he, that I may go and ax him the state of his health?”

  The lad turned to lead the way, while Mickey followed close at his heels, his gun ready to be used at an instant’s warning, while Fred kept glancing over his shoulder, to make sure that his friend was not falling too far in the rear.

  It seemed that, while the man was engaged in his exploration, the lad had ventured upon a little prowling expedition of his own. During this he made the startling discovery that some one else was in the cave, and he dashed off at once: to notify his friend and guide.

  Fred walked some distance further, still holding the torch above his head and peering into the gloom ahead and on either hand, as though in doubt as to whether he was on the right track or not. All at once he stopped with a start of surprise, and, pointing some distance ahead and upon the ground, said:

  “There he is!”

  Following the direction indicated, Mickey saw the figure of a man stretched out upon the ground, face downward, as though asleep.

  “You ain’t afeard of a dead spalpeen?” demanded Mickey, with a laugh. “You might have knowed from his shtyle that he’s as dead as poor Thompson was when Lone Wolf made a call on him.”

  “How do you know he’s dead?” asked Fred, whose terror was not lessened by the word of his friend.

  “’Cause he couldn’t have stretched out that way, and kept it up all the time we’ve been fooling round here. If ye entertain any doubt, I’ll prove it. Let me have your torch.”

  Taking it from the lad’s trembling hand, he walked to the figure, stooped down, and, taking it by the shoulder, turned it over upon its back. The result was rather startling even to such a brave man as Mickey. It was not a dead man which the two looked down upon, but practically a skeleton—the remains of an individual, who, perhaps, had been dead for years. Some strange property of the air had dessicated the flesh, leaving the face bare and staring, while the garments seemed scarcely the worse for their long exposure.

  Another noticeable feature was the fact that the clothing of the remains showed that not only was he a white man, but also that he was not a hunter or frontier character, such as were about the only ones found in that section of the country. The coat, vest, and trousers were of fine dark cloth, and the boots were of thin, superior leather. The cap was gone. It was just such a dress as is encountered every day in our public streets.

  Mickey O’Rooney contemplated the figure for a time in silence. He was surprised and puzzled. Where could this person have come from? There was nothing about his dress to show that he belonged to the military service, else it might have been supposed that he was some officer who had wandered away from his post, and had been caught in the same fashion as had the man and boy.

  “Are there any more around here?” asked Mickey, in a subdued tone, peering off into the gloom.

  Fred passed slowly round in a circle, gradually widening out, until he had passed over quite an area, but without discovering anything further.

  “There isn’t any one else near us. If there is, he is in some other part of the cave.”

  “How came ye to find this fellow?”

  “I was walking along, never thinking of anything of the kind, when I came near stepping upon the body. I was never more scared in my life.”

  “That’s the way wid some of yees—ye’re more affrighted at a dead man than a live one. Let’s see whether he has left anything that ye can identify him by.”

  Upon examining further, a silver-mounted revolver was found beneath the body. It was untarnished, and seemingly as good as the day it was completed. When Mickey came to look at it more closely, he found that only one barrel had been discharged, all the others being loaded.

  This fact aroused a suspicion, and, looking again at the head, a round hole, such as would have been made only by a bullet, was found in the very centre of the forehead. There could be but little doubt, then, that this man, whoever he was, had wandered about the cavern until famished, and, despairing of any escape, had deliberately sent himself out of the world by means of the weapon at his command. But who was he?

  Laying the handsome pistol aside, Mickey continued the search, anxious to find something that would throw light upon the history of the man. It was probable that he had a rifle—but it was not to be found, and, perhaps, had vanished, as had that of Fred Munson. It was more likely that something would be found in his pockets that would throw some light upon the question; and the Irishman, having undertaken the job, went through it to the end.

  It was not the pleasantest occupation in the world to ransack the clothing of a skeleton, and he who was doing it could not help reflecting as he did so that it looked very much like a desecration and a robbing of the dead. To his great disappointment, however, he failed to discover anything which would give the slightest clue. It looked as if the man had purposely destroyed all such articles before destroying himself, and, after a thorough search, Mickey was compelled to give up the hunt.

  Five chambers of the revolver, as has been said, were still loaded, and, after replacing the caps, the new owner was confident they were good for that number of shots.

  “Here,” said he, handing the weapon to the boy; “your rifle is gone, and you may as well take charge of this. It may come as handy as a shillelah in a scrimmage, so ye does hold on to the same.”

  Fred took it rather gingerly, for he did not fancy the idea of going off with property taken from a dead man, but he suffered his friend to pursuade him, and the arrangement was made.

  In the belief that there might be others somewhere around, Mickey spent an hour or two longer in an exploration of the cave, with the single purpose of looking for bodies. They approached the ravine in which Fred had dropped his gun. The Irishman leaped across, torch in hand, and prosecuted his search along that side; but they were compelled to give over after a time and conclude that only a single individual had preceded them in the cave.

  “Where he came from must iver remain a mystery,” said Mickey. “He hasn’t been the kind of chaps you find in this part of the world; but whoever he was, it must have been his luck to drop through the skylight, just as we did. He must have found the wood here and kindled a fire. Then he wint tramping round, looking for some place to find his way out, and kept it up till he made up his mind it was no use Then he acted like a gintleman who prefarred to be shot to starving, and, finding nobody around to ’tend to the business,
done it himself.”

  “Can’t we bury him, Mickey?”

  “He’s buried already.”

  The Irishman meant nothing especial in his reply, but there was a deep significance about it which sent a shudder through his hearer from head to foot. Yes, the stranger was buried, and in the same grave with him were Mickey O’Rooney and Fred Munson.

  The speaker saw the effect his words had produced, and attempted to remove their sting.

  “It looks very much to me as if the man had n’t done anything but thramp, thramp, without thrying any way of getting out, and then had keeled over and give up.”

  “What could he do, Mickey?”

  “Could n’t he have jumped into the stream, and made a dive? He stood a chance of coming up outside, and if he had n’t, he would have been as well off as he is now.”

  “Is that what you mean to do?”

  “I will, before I’d give up as he did; but it’s meself that thinks there’s some other way of finding our way. Bring me gun along, and come with me!”

  Mickey carried the torch, because he wished to use it himself. He led the way back to where the stream disappeared from view, and there he made another careful examination, his purpose being different from what it had been in the first place. He stooped over and peered at the dark walls, noting the width of the stream and the contour of the bank, as well as the level of the land on the right. Evidently he had some scheme which he was considering.

  He said nothing, but spent fully a half hour in his self-imposed task, during which Fred stood in the background, trying to make out what he was driving at. He saw that Mickey was so intently occupied that he was scarcely conscious of the presence of any one else, and he did not attempt to disturb him. Suddenly the Celt roused himself from his abstraction, and, turning to the expectant lad, abruptly asked:

  “Do you know, me laddy, that it is dinner-time?”

  “I feel as though it was, but we have no means of judging the time, being as neither of us carries a watch.”